


Waking Instincts

by CaliHart



Series: VenoMax fics [1]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies), Venom (Movie 2018)
Genre: Angharad Lives, Fix-It, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 01:55:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18841273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaliHart/pseuds/CaliHart
Summary: Just a short fix-it fic for possibly the worst part of the movie





	Waking Instincts

The voices are quiet during the chase, the run, drowned out by the sound of engines and gunfire and explosions. In times like this, it’s almost easy to forget there are any voices at all. 

Aside from the tickle at the back of his brain. 

That tickle, a presence that’s been dormant, sleeping deep down inside him for years, has been waking up more and more the last few months of his captivity. He’s had more food and clean water in the last few months than he has in longer than he can remember, but it’s the rush of new emotions, the tentative trust he has with this woman, Furiosa, the teamwork that comes so easily between them, that has that presence stirring inside his skull with a first soft whisper of _hungry_. 

He can feel it stretching inside him as he shoots out a rear window, covering her back while her hands are empty, curling down his arms and through his muscles, foreign and familiar all at once. 

The last motorcycle falls away in time with an explosion at their back, leaving only one large vehicle in pursuit, covered in muscle-bound men with one thin figure painted white clinging to the side. The vehicle is briefly ahead of them and then falls away to their left, and while Max tries to steer them safe, a harpoon comes through his window, snags the steering wheel, and nearly takes his hand with it when it’s yanked back. His hand is caught against the frame, pinned tight by the harpoon dragging back on the wheel, and something coils in his belly. 

Two of the women scramble behind him, the rear door swinging open and one stepping out, bracing herself to take one side of the bolt cutters. After an agonizing minute, the chain is cut, freeing his hand, and then another woman screams “Look out!” 

Furiosa has an adjustable wrench in hand, tightening it on the steering column, and Max helps her turn. The protruding rock scrapes the entire left side of the Rig, but they keep moving. Max sticks his head out the window, looking for the woman who was out there, and she peeks out from behind the rear of the cab, safe and flushed with exhilaration. 

_Smell blood, Eddie._

Max pauses, giving the woman— _Angharad_ —a thumbs up and turning back to the front. Uneasiness stirs in his veins when the smell reaches his own nose, fresh and wet. Max grunts and huffs a breath through his nose. “Take the wheel,” he says to Furiosa, not waiting for a response when there’s a metallic creak and groan behind him. 

“No!” 

“Angharad!” 

Max throws himself out the window, reaching as the woman falls with a scream, and black extends from his fingertips when his hands fall short. His belt catches on the windowsill and metal digits dig into the back of his pants, and it pulls the air out of him but Angharad is safe in his hold, black wrapped around her middle and extending up his arms. She stares up at him, mouth and eyes wide, hanging low enough her hair is trailing the ground. She grasps at the black and holds on, more fearful of death than of him in this moment. 

“Angharad!” the other women cry out. 

Max grunts and starts to pull her up, careful not to tilt her one way or another until she’s far enough from the ground to reach for handholds and edges of the cab. The other women reach for her from the new open space where the door fell away under her weight. He doesn’t let go until she has both feet in the Rig, his fingers wrapped in black holding tight to her arm and lower back as the other women pull her to safety. Furiosa hauls him back in by the belt, and he scrambles out of her lap to the passenger seat. Angharad sits in the middle of the back bench, in the huddle of women, wide eyes still fixed on him. Furiosa steals glances at him between watching the path ahead, and it’s too much. He turns and stares out the window while he reaches for her big rifle to see if it’s still loaded, the other vehicle still gunning hot behind them. 

Motion behind him has him going still, Angharad sliding up behind his seat. Her arms loop slow and loose around his shoulders, and her breath is hot on his ear. 

“I don’t know what that was,” she whispers, a breath of air so soft no one else could possibly hear it, “and I don’t care. You saved me. Thank you.” She starts to pull away, and Max catches one hand and gives it a squeeze before letting go. He sees Furiosa watching him when he glances over, and he surges to his feet, standing up in the sunroof and aiming the rifle at the other vehicle. The driver dodges but his shot is still enough to make the whole vehicle flip, and he nods in satisfaction and sits back down. 

_We did good, Eddie_ , the voice whispers, smug. 

Max allows himself to smile. 


End file.
